


Dark necessities are a part of my design

by linzackles



Series: That's it? That's it. [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Conjugal Visit, F/M, locked in a room together, not just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-06 04:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: When Rio's arrested, Beth finds herself stuck between a rock and a hard place: let him continue thinking she's responsible, or get locked into a conjugal room with him for six hours.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just pretend for the sake of the story that Michigan allows conjugal visits, okie?

“Whatju do?”

Beth yelps, jumping back, then registers the man and slowly lets her heart rate come back to normal.

It’s been a while since gangsters have been waiting for her in her kitchen. Setting down her bag and keys, she regards Rio’s guy sternly, whom she thinks is named Demon.

“You can’t just enter my house like this.”

“You think I give a damn what you think I can or can’t do?”

He starts coming towards her and Beth realises there is unmitigated fury in his tone; set into the motion of his body.

“I want to talk to Rio,” she demands, trying not to sound terrified. “Where is he?”

“In jail, where you put him, bitch!”

For a whole second, Beth can’t breathe.

“No.”

She shakes her head. Forces air into her lungs.

“N-no. That can’t be right.”

He stops, looking at her strangely, as if trying to analyse her expression.

“They picked him up last night.”

“For what?”

“You mean ta say you didna turn him in?”

“What? No! Why would I do that?”

Sneering, he cocks his gun before closing the last of the distance between them.

“I find out you’re lyin, that you’re a fuckin snitch, Imma be back. Trust. Not when you’re alone, either.”

She tries not to blink, tries not to show her fear, and he gives her one last look then ambles out the back door.

Beth lets her spine relax, lets all the breath leave her lungs; lets the horror sink in.

Rio’s in prison.

* * *

Three days pass.

Beth spends each sick with worry. How long till the FBI knock on her door? How long till she gets a call that Ruby or Annie are in custody? Is Rio ok? She wants to throw up.

It’s 10am and she’s having a stiff drink when there’s a hard knock on her front door. Beth’s stomach turns.

She takes a look around her kitchen, cataloguing everything about it she’ll miss. Then she heads towards the door and pulls it open.

It’s not at all what she expects.

On her doorstep is a tall brunette, fitted into an expensive suit with even pricier jewellery. She’s lean, sinewy, and has the stare of a hawk.

“Elizabeth Boland?”

“Beth,” she nods.

“I’m Gretchen. Rio’s attorney.”

Beth freezes and Gretchen looks very annoyed.

“I’m going to need you to move.”

She only has a second to do so before the attorney barrels in, half-pushing her out of the way, setting down folders and her briefcase.

“I don’t have long, I’m due in court in less than an hour. Is anyone else home?”

“N-no.”

“Good. This is for your ears only.”

Finally she leaves her things alone to turn to Beth, who has closed the front door.

She looks her up and down and Beth suddenly feels very frumpy in her sweater and pajama pants.

“Did you turn in Rio?”

“What?! Why does everyone keep asking me that? I–”

“A yes/no answer is sufficient.”

She glares at the woman before her, which is hard to do considering the way she’s looming over her.

“_No_,” she says through her teeth.

“Good. He needs your help.”

Beth blinks.

“What kind of help?”

How could she possibly help him?

Gretchen’s first human emotion crosses her face, something like befuddlement and irritation.

“I don’t know. We’re both too careful to say very much in our meetings. It’s illegal to record an inmate with their legal representation, of course, but it wouldn’t be the first time. And the DA’s been trying to get Rio for a _long_ long time.” She sets her shoulders. “That’s where you come in.”

Beth can only blink at this influx of information, tail-ended with the most puzzling thing Gretchen’s said so far.

“How?”

“I’ve arranged a conjugal visit for the two of you on Friday.”

Beth nearly chokes on her own spit, but is forced to cut off her coughs by Gretchen’s impatient demeanour.

“We’re not married,” is all she can think to say. 

“Yes, I’m aware. I assume you’re free on Friday or will make yourself so?”

“I…”

Beth can’t think of anything coherent, trying to put the puzzle pieces together of what Gretchen had said.

Whatever Rio needs done, he needs to say it to someone in private. He doesn’t trust telling it to Gretchen where they meet, so… he wants to tell it to her? There aren’t any recording devices in conjugal visit rooms… she assumes. God, all she knows about it is what she’s seen in movies, which is basically nothing.

“Good.” She turns around to her stuff then back to Beth, papers in hand. “Here’s all the information and documents you’ll need. This is important, listen closely. You say you’re there to visit prisoner 5204. They’re going to ask if you’re his wife. You say yes. They’re going to ask you for your name. You say Elizabeth Irene Marks. If they ask any more questions, you call me. You’ve got it?”

“Neither of those things are true,” Beth points out, still feeling like she’s playing catch-up.

And also like lying about verifiable facts to the government seems like a bad idea.

“I didn’t ask for a fact check,” Gretchen snaps, “I asked if you’ve got it.”

“I… yes. I’ve got it.”

“Good. Let’s hear it. Who are you here to see?”

Beth only has a moment to swallow, the woman’s bird eyes harsh.

“Prisoner 5204.”

“Are you the prisoner’s wife?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Name?”

“Elizabeth Irene Marks.”

“Good. That’s all you have to do.” Then, even harsher: “I spent a lot of time and effort arranging this – do _not _mess it up.”

She spins, leaving a swath of expensive perfume in her wake, grabs her things and opens the front door.

“Gretchen,” Beth stops her, heart pounding.

Her long muscles all freeze, pausing.

Beth lets out a little breath, half thankful and half terrified.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

The attorney hesitates for a moment before turning, and the blonde notes actual compassion behind her eyes.

When she speaks, her voice is soft for the first time.

“Did you get Rio arrested?”

Beth shakes her head. “No.”

“Would you testify against him?”

“No.”

She nods, firm.

“Then you do this or you’re as good to him as whoever did.” She gives Beth another once-over; a slow zig-zag with her eyes that seems to size up her worth. “Trust me, Ms Boland, whatever you’re scared of isn’t half as terrifying as whatever’s waiting behind door number two.”

* * *

Beth packs like she’s going away for a week.

She figures it’s better for things to be confiscated than for her not to have something she could’ve taken in.

But in the end, they barely take anything besides all her packaging.

They look at her – matching her to Rio in their minds, maybe – then at her things very judgementally, but they don’t say anything. Someone points out that one of her items shouldn’t be allowed but another guard rolls their eyes and says it’s fine, with a pointed side look at her, like _The only thing she’s going to give him to kill fellow inmates with is snoozefest stories about her bake sales. _

It makes Beth understand why her. She’s always been his blanket of disguise. She tries not to let it bother her.

Then comes the cavity search.

The woman’s nice, to her credit, but it wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience with a saint, and Beth feels extra insecure and judged – for her underwear, for her body, for the dusting of pubic hair.

_Cough_, the woman says, and Beth wants to die.

But, somehow, that’s not the worst of it.

“You have any allergies or anything?”

Beth can find neither words to respond nor understanding for why this is being asked of her, still trying to recover - which is difficult, considering she’s still naked.

“There are condoms in the room, but only the normal stuff,” she explains. “If you want something fancy, you need to fill out forms. Same for gels and–”

“I don’t need anything, I’m fine,” Beth rushes to say, pinker than she thinks she’s ever been in her life.

The guard shrugs, lets her re-dress, then leads her out of the tiny cold room and back to her things. Some of it is missing, despite her having passed the confiscation part, but she decides not to say anything, especially when the guard gives her a look like he _dares _her to ask where her Luxury Auto magazine had gone.

Instead Beth drums up her very best party-planning committee smile.

“Can I go in and see my husband now?”

They pile all her stuff into her arms.

“You signed the disclaimer?”

“The one that basically said if he kills me in there, none of you can be held responsible?” she asks dryly.

“That’s the one.”

Beth sighs. “Yes.”

“Good. The prisoner’s been searched and cleared of all contraband,” she starts reciting. “Do you feel safe to proceed?”

Does she?

But it’s too late now. Her arms are piled full of things, she’d just bent and coughed, and the lives of everyone she loves is on the line.

“Yes.”

They nod and one of the male guards unlocks the door in front of her.

“Time starts now.”

Beth takes a deep breath then takes a step in. Instantly the door shuts then locks behind her.

Swallowing, she catches sight of Rio.

He’s at the window, in a white tank top and dark blue overalls that hang from his hips. He’s staring out, the paragon of patience.

Then he turns.

For a moment she loses her breath, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the look in his eyes or the whole picture. God, it’s so wrong to see him like this, lacking all his dark expensive shirts and jeans; perfectly maintained sneakers.

“Look who it is,” he says, with a dark smirk.

“It wasn’t me,” she says immediately, almost fumbling over the words in her rush. “I didn’t get you in here, I didn’t hand you over, it wasn’t me. You have to know that, I didn’t get you arrested.”

_Not again_, anyway.

Rio’s jaw ticks and he hesitates for a moment before moving toward her.

“What I know is you gonna get me outta here, sweetheart. Right quick, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pumped you guys are interested in this! I come up with the weirdest ideas sometimes and have no idea if anyone will even care, so thank you for letting me know xx

Beth shakes her head, confused.

“How?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares, before his gaze moves to the pile of things she’s carrying. His eyes turn questioning and Beth clears her throat.

“I brought you some stuff. I know you can’t keep it, but…”

She drifts off and he comes closer, inspecting. Then he nods and it’s solid, a silent thank you.

Rio removes the top few items and disappears into the bathroom. Well – he doesn’t actually disappear. There’s no door on the bathroom, so when he starts pulling off his tank top and running the water, Beth forces herself to avert her eyes and get to work.

She drops the pile of stuff on the floor then takes stock of the room.

It’s not awful, honestly. Boomer’s shitty motel room had been worse.

There’s a double bed, a barred window and a small pedestal. Atop it is a lamp. The bed has the barest of threadbare linens, discoloured with age. There’s absolutely no way Beth’s sitting on it, but there’s no chair or any other source of comfort in the room.

Glad for her own forethought, Beth steps forward and begins stripping the bed, working to the sound of water splashing in the bathroom. She’d gone to his storage unit and, while gathering some clothing, had managed to find his cologne. Along with it she’d brought soap, a washcloth and a towel, all of which he’d taken in with him.

By the time he returns, Beth has the bed covered in the fitted sheet she’d brought along, plus a flat sheet. Rio’s dressed in jeans, one of his cashmere sweaters, and prison shoes. It would make her laugh if he weren’t looking at her with amused derision as she attempts to pull the sheet into perfect place.

Suddenly realising what it looks like she’s doing – _preparing the bed for them _– she blushes deep.

“It’s just… somewhere to sit.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “I’m-I’m sure they wash the sheets, but… well, I’m _not_ actually sure they wash them.”

He waits for a second – _tortures her_ – before nodding.

“Yeah, was fuckin nasty.”

And that’s all he says before coming forward and sitting on the bed, one hand feeling over the sheet. If he recognises his own Egyptian cotton, he doesn’t say anything.

“You got food?”

She’s thankful for this, _one thing _she has full command of.

Nodding, she heads over to her pile and begins transferring things to the bed before unwrapping it all. There are scones she’d baked herself with jam, hotdogs, cupcakes, mini burgers, muffins – anything and everything she could think of that would be satisfying and doesn’t require any cutlery to eat.

It ends up being a giant feast spread between them, and Rio laughs, deep and long.

“You sure you ain’t put me in here? ‘Cuz this looks guilty as sin, mami.”

“It’s called compassion,” she bristles. “I didn’t think they’d be feeding you all that well in here.”

She knows how much joy he takes in eating.

His jaw hardens. “Yeah, imagine the saddest food you ever seen in your life then times that by ten. Oh yeah, and it tastes like half-warm garbage.”

He starts with the scones, which haven’t cooled completely from the oven yet, spreading jam on with his finger, then moves on to the next thing and the next thing until nearly half of it is gone.

“You ain’t gonna eat anything?” he says at some point, and she shakes her head.

She’s too nervous. He still hasn’t told her what he wants her to do and it’s killing her.

“Are you…” She clears her throat again, almost too scared to hear the answer. “Ok?”

There aren’t any signs that he’s been hurt, but she has to know for sure.

“They know better than to fuck wit’ me, ma, you don’t gotta worry,” he shrugs lightly, clearly unbothered.

“All I’ve been is worried,” she points out, the dam finally bursting. “You just got arrested and nobody let me know and then suddenly Demon was in my house threatening me, saying I did it and–”

“He did whatnow?”

Realising it hadn't been on Rio's command then, she gets stroppy.

“He _assumed_ I’d gotten you arrested and he _freaked out_ on me.”

His frown turns to quick amusement at the testy way she talks about Demon.

“Relax, sweetheart. You got a track record, that’s all.”

Taking a breath, she calms herself, trying to match his mood. His shoulders are as relaxed as his expression as he reaches for half a hotdog.

“You get a guy arrested _one time_,” she tries for a joke, and he grins.

“I’ll tell the boys to lay off, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Then, realising, she frowns.

“If you can talk to them, why do you need me?”

He sizes her up for a moment then wipes off his hands.

“In here you gotta know what channels work for what messages.”

“And I’m a channel?”

“You’re catchin on.”

“I’m delivering a message?”

“More like passin it on.”

“What kind of message?”

“The kind that gets me outta this hellhole.”

“Would you like to be more specific?”

He looks at her for a long moment, gaze going to every part of her face, his eyes dark.

After taking a short breath, he speaks.

“If it wasn’t you, Elizabeth, then there’s only one other person who coulda put me in here.”

She waits for more, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“So the person who _did_ do it is…”

“A problem,” he finishes, well aware she’d been expecting a name.

Then again, she’s not sure one would really help. Outside of herself, she has no idea what or who his business encompasses.

But she decides that he seems sure enough, and as long as whoever it is casts suspicion away from herself, she isn’t going to question his theory any further.

“A problem you need taking care of?”

“Uh huh.”

“Rotten egg?”

“Sum’n like that.”

“But all I need to do is pass on a message?” she confirms.

“That’s right, darlin. Keepin your hands nice and clean, just like you like em.”

She glares at that as he cocks his head.

“’Course, if it _was _you… you’d be sentencing an innocent person to death.”

Her jaw drops. “You can’t say that!”

“Why not? You said it wasn’t you.”

“It _wasn’t_,” she snaps. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

He rolls his eyes and she knows he’s annoyed that her issue is with him making it so explicit.

“You see where we at right now?” He gestures around the room. “The days when you could convince yourself you ain’t in as deep as you are, they over, mami. Kaput. You need me and I need out, so you do whatever the fuck it takes; this non-negotiable.”

God. She presses her fingers into her eyes then lets out a breath.

“Who’s the message to? An… assassin or something?”

He snorts a little but shakes his head.

“You don’t gotta worry about that.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get it to them?”

“All in time, honey. Pace yourself.”

He smiles slow and she remembers – they’re in here for six hours. She supposes she can wait another little while.

Still, she’s not happy about it, and huffily goes about clearing up the remains of the meal. He holds back a stack of chips but lets her take the rest.

When she’s done, she re-takes her spot and he considers her.

“You bring anything to read or sum'n?”

Beth sighs. “I brought you a car magazine, but they took it.”

“Hate car magazines.”

“What kind of magazines do you like?”

He thinks for a second.

Then: “None of em.”

“Well, that's not very helpful for next time.”

“Next time?”

She regards him, half-curious and half-worried.

“If I pass on the message you want me to pass on, how long till you're out?”

“_If_?”

She rolls her eyes.

“When.”

“A week, tops,” he shrugs. Then: “What about cards?”

“What?”

“You bring cards?”

“No.”

“What’d you think we was gonna do the whole time, huh?”

The question is innocent enough – but then he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth implicitly, and Beth shifts, feeling as ill at ease as when the guard had spoken about the condoms.

She clears her throat. “I'm going to wash my hands.”

She heads to the bathroom without meeting his eyes, but a second after she’s turned on the faucet, he’s right beside her, squeezing into the limited space.

She pretends he’s not there, though, using the soap she’d brought him to wash her hands. He takes it from her when she’s done lathering and their hands touch for the quickest of moments. She shivers and tries to move away, but there’s really nowhere else to go, so she opts instead for finishing as quickly as possible before drying off.

Rio is only a beat behind her, taking the towel with his eyes on her. She can’t help meeting them – they’re nearly pressed together in the tiny space and he’s looking down at her, his cool breath fanning over her face. She also now deeply regrets the cologne, because it’s infiltrating her mind, her eyes going down to his lips without her consent.

They turn up into a smirk.

“You got a thing for bathrooms, mami?”

Instantly her eyes jump back up to his and she forces the dirtiest look she can manage before spinning on her heel and going back to the bed.

It’s only when she sits that she looks back and realises he’d been watching her walk away.

Her cheeks pink as he smiles slowly.

“You lookin real good, ma.”

The weather’s nice so she’d opted for a light summery wrap dress, red with white daisies. Obviously the fact that he'd see her in it had crossed her mind when she’d chosen it, but she never would’ve imagined he’d say something.

Looking down at the bed, she shifts awkwardly.

“Thank you.”

Her peripheral vision catches him re-take his seat too. Then suddenly his hand crosses the space, landing on her leg. The dress is longer at the back and sitting makes it ride up a little in front, leaving one of his fingers on her bare skin. Beth forces herself not to react.

“New outfit?”

She doesn’t know what to say. The dress isn’t, but her underwear is, and this conversation is off the rails enough already.

“Why me?” she decides to change the topic, lifting her chin high.

He removes his hand.

“Whatchu mean?”

“Surely there's someone else in your organisation able to pass on a message.”

Surely, if Gretchen can do whatever sorcery she’d done to make Beth appear as his wife, she could’ve done it for someone else.

Rio shakes his head.

“No one I wanna spend six hours with.”

Her breath catches but he blows past this like it’s nothing.

“So how'd Gretchen set it up; d'you need to say you my wife?”

She shifts uncomfortably.

“Yes.”

His laugh is throaty.

“You musta _loved_ that.”

She just barely suppresses an eye roll.

“How _did_ Gretchen set it up? You've been here for less than a week and I'm not your wife.”

“You sure about that? When last you check?”

“That's not funny.”

He chuckles, but his expression quickly turns serious.

“I don't ask questions when people do their jobs, sweetheart. I want somethin, I pay good money and then it gets done. That's it.”

“Is that what I'm doing here?”

He’d wanted her here and she'd come running. And, god, now she’s going to help him get someone killed.

“You bein paid? ‘Cuz then Gretchen got some ‘splainin to do after all.”

She scoffs. “No, but once you’re out, I think it’s time to re-negotiate.”

“Uh huh,” he rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem too bothered, tapping against his leg thoughtfully. “They search you?”

“You _know_ they did,” she says through her teeth.

“It ain’t fun, huh?”

“No, it’s not _fun_.”

“They make you cough?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she bristles. “It was humiliating.”

“Know what’s worse?” he pops a brow. “Sharin a room and bunks wit’ grown men. Bein told when to eat, workout; sleep.”

And now she feels awful.

She takes in the room again and him in it; takes in the prison shoes and the way his confident charm is at odds with everything around them. He was made for Cadillacs and expensive sneakers; loft apartments and fancy furniture. Racks and racks of cashmere sweaters he never wears and even pricier watches he also never wears.

He is luxury, and seeing him like this feels like some sick joke; an appalling twist of reality. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong.

“You don’t belong here.”

As soon as it makes it out of her mouth, she knows it sounds absolutely moronic – he’s a criminal, they both are. Prison is exactly where they belong.

His look of amusement tells her he knows that it’s made it out of her mouth wrong, but of course he’d never let it go.

“I don’t?”

“I just mean…”

She struggles with herself; realises there is absolutely no way she can describe what she’s thinking.

“There are other people who deserve to be here more,” she eventually settles on, flustered.

She waits for him to tell her that’s not the way it works. But his face twists then straightens out, serious, as he goes strangely silent.

Then he moves a little closer, eyes trained on hers. 

He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t, opting to brush a finger over her collarbone. Beth can’t contain a shiver. His finger moves lower, his gaze moving with it, and suddenly his thumb is there too, near-pinching the top of her breast. She inhales brokenly and his eyes jump back up to hers.

She wants him to kiss her. It’s all she can think about.

But he only continues the light brushing, his finger hot over the tops of her breasts; as hot as Beth’s breaths.

She nearly moans at the loss of it but then she feels his hand on her leg, pushing away her dress, and Beth’s lips part as his fingers find her inner thighs.

He pauses there, though, his eyes sweeping over her face.

“This ain't why I brought you here,” he says in nearly a whisper.

Beth swallows.

“I know.”

Despite all his innuendos, there’s something sincere and hesitant in his eyes. And then there's all the activities he’d asked after; the ill-at-ease ways he’d tried at idle conversation.

“You know?”

She shakes her head, breathless. “I don't care.”

His eyes gleam and he moves even closer, till their knees are touching, and then he dips his hand between as she parts her thighs for him.

Slowly he begins to touch her over the cotton and Beth bites into her lip to prevent herself from moaning. It feels too goddamn good already.

His touch is light, barely there, but she keens into his hand.

He’s pleased, smirking, and presses harder; begins to rub in earnest. Just like that, Beth abandons the last of her shame, moving her hips to his rhythm. It drives him to press harder, apply more delicious pressure.

She’s moaning, eyes falling closed, when he shoves her by the shoulder and she falls back diagonally across the bed.

Her eyes stutter open and she realises he’s watching her attentively, every change in her facial expression, every time her back arches. She’s embarrassed that she’s this far gone when he hasn’t even touched flesh yet, but she can’t tell him to stop, too scared he’ll misinterpret. Instead she just closes her eyes again, swallowing as she feels the slow beginning of an orgasm.

Rio pulls away.

Her eyes jump open, ready for murder, but he doesn’t look smug like she expects. Instead his lip is pulled into his mouth, teeth settled deep, and he jerks his head.

“Spread your legs.”

She hesitates for only a second, reminding herself to breathe, before scrambling to adjust, moving up on the bed so her head is near the wall. Then she puts her feet up on the bed and slowly, nervously, lifts her knees then pries them apart.

Rio watches attentively, eyes luminescent, before darting forward. Her panties are hanging from her one ankle faster than she can follow and then he’s between her legs, kissing and sucking little bits of her thighs into his mouth.

Her breaths are so damn loud and she shifts, desperate for him to hurry up. When he does lick a line up her, Beth bites back a moan, hips stuttering, and Rio groans.

“Fuck, I missed the way you taste, mami.”

She doesn’t have a chance to reply – doesn’t know if she even has the presence of mind to produce something – because then he’s determinedly nosing apart her folds and licking in.

Her fingers dig into his scalp and he holds her hips down when he begins sucking at her clit. Beth’s making little sounds she can’t control before she’s outright sobbing his name as she rocks onto his face. The orgasm slams into her and she hears Rio curse as her fingers dig in way too deep and her body freezes then jerks.

“Oh,” she moans when another wave starts.

It feels like it lasts forever, the tremors shaking all the way through her. 

It’s a minute before she’s completely come back down.

Spent, Beth pulls a hand through her hair and licks over her lips.

It takes her another second to realise Rio’s disappeared and she takes the opportunity to pull her panties back up. They’re wet, but she – stupidly – hadn’t thought to bring another pair. The new set of lingerie had been just in case – she hadn't genuinely expected anything to happen between them. God, she'd barely thought she could make him believe that she wasn't the one responsible for his arrest.

She’s adjusting her dress when Rio exits the bathroom.

He leans against the wall for a moment, looking at her thoughtfully.

“What's up wit' you?”

She has to take a second to process his words. He’s as casual as if she hadn’t been riding his face two minutes ago.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you ain't been sittin around cryin over me, mami,” he taunts, coming closer. “Whatchu got goin on?”

For a few seconds she just stares at him as he settles on the bed beside her, adjusting all the pillows so he can lean back against the wall.

It’s a complicated question, not least because of his nonchalant delivery. She _hasn’t _actually been up to all that much besides being worried and terrified.

But she remembers that she actually hadn’t seen him in the week before he got arrested, so there are at least some updates from then.

“Business is going well.”

He nods. “Good.”

She stares, but when he doesn’t ask any further questions, she moves onto the next thing she can think to share.

“Annie has a crush on a new guy. I hate him.”

He lets out an amused breath. “'Course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, tone stroppy even to her own ears.

He shrugs. “You one of them overprotective types. My sisters are the same way.”

Her eyes round.

“You have sisters??”

The question comes out as if he’s just announced that he can speak to dead people, and Rio looks amused.

“Yeah, a whole family too. Momz and popz; grandparents and everythin, it’s crazy.”

She glares and he grins.

“C’mon. What else?”

She thinks.

“…Kenny's math tutor thinks he needs a science tutor.”

He chuckles. “Even the tutors hustlin these days, huh?”

“You think he’s playing me?”

“Hmm. He recommend someone he knows?”

“His older sister.”

Rio laughs. “Yeah, ma, send him packin and find one who does both.”

Beth frowns, absorbing this. It’s not a bad idea. She could negotiate a better price than two individual rates.

“I’ll think about it,” is all she allows, though.

He smiles as if he can read her mind but doesn’t say anything, looking away instead.

The quiet envelopes them and for the first time Beth really realises. Maybe it’s because all the tension is out of the way – sexual and otherwise – but it only finally occurs to her now.

They’re alone. Locked in a room together. There’s nowhere he can go and he can’t force her to leave.

“Why did you take the money back?”

The question hangs in the air for a long moment before he finally swings his head back to look at her.

“’Scuse me?”

“You gave me the keys to the kingdom, you said it was mine. That you were moving on. And then you took it back – why?"

* * *

* * *

**Beth's outfit:**

[ ](https://ibb.co/NTPcyYS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So keen to hear your thoughts, and also would still love to know if there's anything else you want them to discuss (they both get some surprising answers out of one another in the next one :P)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to you guys, I decided to extend this by a chapter! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, your support on Twitter and everything else 😘 I hope you enjoy :)

It’s the time – six hours of it – to ask everything she’s ever wanted to, and it’s the first question that bubbles to the surface.

The surprise in his eyes morphs into something more wily; tactical.

“That why you took me into that bathroom? ‘Cuz you figured you wasn’t gonna see me again?”

_I’m out. I’m done, man, time for something new._

Beth blinks back. She hadn’t been expecting a straight answer – it’s him, after all – but she also hadn’t been prepared for him to flip it on her, and expertly, at that.

“…It didn’t not cross my mind,” she admits slowly, cautious. “But… no.”

She hadn’t thought much that night, really. She’d felt. She’d felt the crushing weight of Dean’s condescension; felt the magnitude of the realisation that the man she’d been married to for twenty years thought she was only good for making sandwiches. 

And then she’d felt Rio’s eyes on her from across the room. Rio, who’d told her she could be something. Who believed in her. Who made her _feel_. And she’d wanted more, more.

Excitement and terror had mixed in her stomach, intoxicating, and then, an instant before getting to her feet, it shot through her mind: What’s the worst that could happen? He’s leaving town anyway.

So it had crossed her mind – but it hadn’t underpinned her actions.

Still, she decides to take the opening he’s accidentally left for her.

“Did you stay because of the bathroom?”

He licks over his lips unhurriedly.

“It didn’t not cross my mind.”

It’s his usual brand of circumventive but it’s an admission, too.

Ever since he’d shown up in the dealership that night, she hadn’t known whether he’d stayed for her or the new opportunity to wash cash. Now she supposes she knows.

“What’d you tell the Fed?” Rio throws out a question of his own.

It’s her turn to be surprised.

“Excuse me?”

“Turner – whatchu tell him? When you said I was hittin it?”

She shifts uncomfortably.

“That’s not important.”

He smirks. “That dirty, huh?”

She glares, but he remains smug, and she clears her throat as the story she’d told Turner comes back to her.

“I said my husband cheated on me and that I returned the favour.”

Rio looks unconvinced.

“That it?”

“That’s not good enough?”

“Way I remember, you all about the details wit’ your lies, mami.”

Crap.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights and he clocks it; of course he does.

Biting on the inside of her cheek, Beth averts her gaze to the sheet. There’s no way he’s going to let her get out of this now.

“I said you were a stranger in a bar and I invited you back to my place.” She draws a shallow breath. “Then we screwed on the kitchen table, right on the breakfast dishes.”

He doesn’t say anything and Beth feels the back of her neck burning as the silence stretches on, her desperate to know what he’s thinking.

“Hmm,” he says eventually, a finger settling lightly on her knee. “You say what the breakfast was?”

She looks at his finger on her then lifts her chin to meet his eyes.

“Blueberry pancakes.”

It seems to catch him by surprise – he tosses his head back in laughter and Beth would be annoyed if there weren’t a sparkle of admiration in his eyes when he looks back at her again.

“Shit,” he grins. “Guess we gotta add that to the bucket list now. Gotta make an honest woman outta you.”

Not letting the allusion to marriage get to her, Beth huffs.

“I don’t think I even remember what the word honesty means.”

“World runs on lies, mami,” he waves away her worries. “And trust me, if there’s a race, you ain’t even qualifyin.”

“I just told about five people out there that I’m your wife,” she points out.

Rio snorts. “If it makes you feel any better, none of em actually believed you.”

“What? Then why did I have to say it??”

“The law and stuff,” he shrugs, like this is the least important thing in the world to him. “They know who I am, mami.”

Of course. How else had he gotten a conjugal visit a week into his time here? How else do the inmates _know better than to fuck _with him?

And if they know who he is then they know that he isn’t married to someone who looks like her.

_Gotta make an honest woman outta you._

She pushes the thought away.

“Is there anyone you don’t have on your payroll?”

“Money’s just paper if you don’t use it to make your life easier, ma.”

“Well, they took your magazine.”

He snorts in light amusement again. “I’ll make sure to take it outta their cheques.”

Crossing her arms, she fixes him with a look.

“So, then, who do they think I am? Some kind of prostitute?”

He shrugs with an easy nod, eyes roving over her.

“They gotta figure I got some pretty… specific tastes.”

She can’t help it, she shifts, re-adjusting her dress as if that’s somehow going to make her look less like a forty-something housewife.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?”

God, he’s way too good at turning her questions back on her.

“Am I the first…” She clears her throat. “Woman of my type that you’ve been with?”

“Your type,” he repeats, as if he has no idea what she means.

“Yes.”

He smirks.

“White?”

Beth glares. “No.”

“Married?”

God. Does he always have to make it as difficult as possible?

“Older.”

He looks at her thoughtfully, drawing his tongue over his teeth.

“That matter?”

“Maybe.”

“Why’s that?”

“For once, can you just answer the question?” she snaps.

He looks amused at first. But then, slowly, the mirth washes from his face as he draws steadily closer. She freezes, uncertain, but his touch is more confusing than anything else.

He draws over her facial features, fingers light – first her eyebrows then the lines of her nose and her Cupid’s bow. He takes his time over her lips then finally outlines her chin.

She’s barely breathing by the time his eyes make it back up to hers and he nods just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, mami. You my first.”

The way he says it makes a thrill run up her spine, and Beth isn’t sure what to say in response.

“I’m… gonna get something to eat now,” she sputters out, then quickly moves off the bed and towards her pile.

Her back to him, she allows herself a moment to collect herself.

“Bring me a doughnut, yeah?” he calls out.

She lets out a breath, grateful that he’s equally as willing to let it go. That they’re equally as bad at acknowledging anything heartfelt; anything real.

Which, god – how had he managed to turn that answer into something heartfelt to begin with?

She busies herself with finding something to eat for longer than she really needs to, glad to have stolen this moment for herself. Another thing she hadn’t let herself consider beforehand because she’d been so wrapped up in fear – there’s nowhere to go. No way to be alone. She’s stuck with him here for six hours, longer than they’ve ever spent together in sum total, she feels, and normally she has time to regroup and recuperate.

So she takes her time sorting through everything then re-arranging it into a neat little pile.

By the time Beth turns back around, she’s managed to shake off the intimacy his admission had unearthed.

She heads back with a doughnut and a muffin and, after passing him the one, settles back on the bed with her legs tucked underneath her.

“Lemme ask you sum’n,” Rio says, looking thoughtful.

“What?” she asks, freezing in her attempts to unwrap the muffin.

“Why’d you rob that store?”

It’s… _really_ messed up that it takes Beth a whole second to figure out which one he means.

“Fine & Frugal?”

“Uh huh,” he nods.

“Like why did we rob it, or why that store in particular?”

Does he know Annie works there? She’s suddenly not sure.

“First one.”

“Well,” she starts, “Ruby and Annie needed it for–”

“I’m askin ‘bout _you_, ma.”

Beth meets his eyes with a short breath before she looks down at her muffin.

She breaks off a piece, puts it in her mouth then chews slowly, desperate to postpone the inevitable.

“I needed the money,” she says eventually.

“Yea, I got that part,” he rolls his eyes. “_How come_? That moron husband o’ yours that bad at sellin cars?”

“Yes, actually,” she bites out, annoyed but mostly just embarrassed.

She hadn’t realised that they’d never discussed this before – that he didn’t know what Dean had done – and now she wishes they could’ve kept it that way.

He sniffs out a laugh. “That’s fuckin sad.”

“He was stupid,” she tries to add some more explanation. “There were three mortgages and bad investments and and and…”

Rio’s looking away, eyes pensive.

“Guess it’s true what they say about white picket fences, huh.” He swings to look at her. “He do all that behind your back?”

She nods, keeping her composure. “That and his secretary.”

Beth looks back down, eating some more of her muffin. She can feel his eyes on her but she ignores it, opting to stand and discard the muffin liner.

Her wedges moving across the floor is the only sound in the room till she returns to the bed.

“Why you still with him?” Rio asks, eyes unreadable.

“I have four children,” she replies, defensive.

She gets that question from Annie often enough, she doesn’t need it from him too.

“That a reason?”

“Of course it is,” she bites out. Then, desperate to pivot if not entirely change the topic, she cocks her head. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?”

He frowns. “Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You clearly weren’t hiding him.”

“What, we _friends_ now?” He spits the word out with contempt.

She scoffs, shaking her head.

“I have no idea what we are.”

Her tone's unintentionally rueful.

“Hmm,” he agrees, letting silence fall heavily around them.

It’s thick but not uncomfortable, just ruminative.

She finds herself moving closer.

“What’s your son’s name?”

He looks at her; weighs her up.

Then: “Marcus.”

“He’s eight?”

“Nine,” he nods.

“When’s his birthday? I’d bake him something,” she offers, still advancing.

He’s noticed now, she can tell from the curve of his lips.

“June twenty-fifth.”

She nods, committing the date to memory.

“When’s _your_ birthday?”

He breaks out into a full smile – it’s impressed, like he should’ve seen that coming, but she’d managed to catch him unawares.

“April third.”

She bites on her lip.

“What year?”

“1842.”

Pausing her advance, she glares, and he smiles lopsidedly, clearly pleased with himself.

Beth huffs. She can’t tell whether he’s just being his usual secretive self, or if he actually knows he’s way younger than she is and doesn’t want her to feel embarrassed.

“God. Please say you’re at least in your thirties.”

“Damn, ma, I really be lookin that good?”

She lets her eyes roam all over him, the way he normally does to her – from the dark blue jeans to the black cashmere then up to the bird of prey at his throat. By the time she makes it to his lips, he’s licking them, swallowing.

“You look good,” she nods.

His lips are on hers before she can draw a breath and she gasps, letting his tongue in. It’s their first kiss in weeks and Beth loses herself in it for a whole minute, one hand going to his neck and the other to his shoulder, where she feels the soft material of his sweater.

She pulls away with a raised brow.

“How come you never normally wear any of these?”

Or most of what she’d seen in his closet, really.

He smirks. “That why you picked it, mami? You like dressin me?”

And, she realises – yes, she had. She’d enjoyed going through the storage spaces and taking her time picking something that he’d be forced to wear; enjoyed the thought of her having any sort of small say over what he did. For once, he wouldn’t be the one in control.

Maybe that’s why in spite of everything terrible about this situation, a part of her relishes it, too.

She’s not in control, but neither is he. In here, they’re just two people in a room. There is no power to volley for; no tug of war they can use to hide behind.

But that’s too much; too honest, and the world runs on lies.

“Yes,” she says softly instead, before drawing a quick breath. “I also like undressing you.”

His eyes are ablaze and she thinks he’ll kiss her, but instead she feels his hands at her waist.

He undoes the rope of her dress and lets it fall before pulling away the material, revealing her body to him.

“I like unwrappin you,” he says, equally as quietly, eyes skirting on predatorial.

Rising onto her knees, she shucks the dress from her arms then kicks off her shoes, and when he reaches around to undo her bra and her breasts fall heavy, he does look at them like they're a gift he's waited too long for.

“I like the way you look at me,” she breathes.

He lifts his eyes to hers. It’s dangerous, she knows. Her admission, this, everything. And she’d regret it, but the way he’s looking at her tells her _no_. No, this is exactly as it should be.

When she reaches for the edge of his sweater, he helps her, and they get it off him in a second. For a moment she just explores the lines of his chest. Then she leans down and he catches her lips with his, inhaling sharply when she bites firmly into his lower lip. Beth doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“I like you inside me,” she says against his lips, onto his tongue.

“Fuck,” he moans, an instant before launching up, pushing and re-adjusting them as he kicks off his shoes.

She’s on her knees with her palms against the wall when she draws a breath, hearing him undo his pants. She clenches just remembering the feeling of his cock inside her – just like this, up against that bathroom sink, what Dean had so badly failed to replicate. Rio shoves her panties down without preamble and then he’s inside her and she moans, clenching around him as his free hand wraps around her breast.

“Oh my god, Rio,” she breathes out, eyes falling closed.

“I like how fuckin wet you get for me, mami,” he growls.

He starts kneading as he kisses at her neck, giving her time to adjust, but Beth shakes her head; she’s ready, she wants more. She wriggles backward, causing a curse from him, and he digs a fist into her hair. She yelps in surprise and he tugs, bringing her to him. His hold is firm but not harsh, so she turns her head. They kiss sloppily, tongues hot and desperate around deafening breaths.

Then he moves and she jolts, pulls away, as it sends lightning up inside her.

A collection of curses falls from her tongue as she drops her head between her arms then grinds back. With a groan, Rio pulls out then drives back in, gradually increasing in speed, and holy shit it feels so goddamn good.

Her eyes closing, she sees what she knows he’s studying: his thick cock pounding in and out of her as her ass bounces on him, breasts shaking. It makes her wetter.

He’s going harder and she’s bouncing faster and fuck, it feels so–

“Oh, Jesus!”

She’s whimpering now, almost as loud as their bodies are, each stroke lighting her up in a thousand different ways and pushing her closer, closer.

Then suddenly she’s shaking, breaking, her body shattering with her mind as the orgasm splits her in half. She tries to keep moving but Rio’s coming too, like he’d just been waiting for her, and he goes rigid behind her as her body continues to quiver and clench, milking him.

Her body’s still in tremors when she comes to minutes later, forehead pressed to the wall between her palms.

She nearly jumps when she feels a warm towel between her legs but it’s just Rio, cleaning her up. He makes neat work of it before disappearing equally as quickly.

Finally feeling capable of moving, Beth shifts. Remembers there’s a world. Remembers they’re in a prison – oh god. How sound-proof are these walls??

But the thought slips from her mind when Rio comes back out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but his tattoos.

He stares back at her for a few long moments and that’s when she realises that she’s naked too, knees parted, practically on display. Immediately she falls into herself, badly trying to cover her breasts with her arms as she sits flat on her ass and tries to locate her panties.

She’s found them by the time the bed dips beside her, but Rio pulls her by the arm so that she tumbles down beside him and his lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Name’s Rio.”

She stares blankly back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Not Jesus. Rio,” he repeats, like she’s a toddler.

Her mouth falls open and he looks incredibly amused, so she reaches out – to hit him or do _something _– but he catches her hand easily.

Re-arranging her features, she puts on a testy tone.

“Not _Christopher_?”

He looks even more amused.

“Naw. ‘Less you wanna be my neighbour.”

“You have more than one alias?”

“Sure. At the gym, it’s Justin; Alejandro at the bar; Rick, at your lil store.”

He says this so easily that Beth’s genuinely not sure whether he’s having her on or not.

He smirks wickedly. “Guess in bed, I’m Jesus.”

She tries again to hit him, but his grip on her hand is fast and he seems to be very entertained by the fact that she can’t overpower him.

All of a sudden he rises, and it catches Beth by surprise. She draws a short gasp before she realises he’s just shifted to hover over her, his eyes raking over her body thoughtfully.

She feels too naked, not having even managed to get her panties back on, but he distracts her by very deliberately releasing her hand so it goes to her breast.

Her eyes go from it to him, but his gaze is still on her body.

“You ever touch yourself, Elizabeth?”

A tiny shriek-like sound comes from her throat that thankfully doesn’t make it to her mouth, but he meets her eyes like he’d heard it anyway.

“Hmm,” he hums, pleased.

She doesn’t need to say anything; he can read it all over her face.

“With them small hands?” he questions, brows knitting in that faux-concerned way he has.

He rubs a thoughtful finger over the hand he’d deposited on her breast, then lowers till his lips are brushing her ear.

“You think about me, mami? ‘Bout us?”

“Y-yes,” she manages to breathe out.

“You miss my hands?” he asks, and squeezes over hers.

Her back arches a little as she bites into her lower lip.

“No,” she bites out, just because he’s being mean.

Except it’s stupid because then he laughs, low and breathy.

“I see. A’ight.”

And then his hand is moving off her breast and over her stomach, brushing over her hipbone, and then he’s found her centre, still slick. She shivers just at the barely-there touch and he laughs again.

“Tell me whatchu think about,” he demands.

He dances a thumb down, barely touching.

She swallows. Then: “I think about you in my room.”

“That right?”

He presses closer with his entire body and she can feel him hardening against her hip. It gives her the confidence to continue.

“Sometimes you have the tyre iron, sometimes you don’t. Either way, you break everything in my room.”

It’s like a reward – he slips his fingers between her folds, eliciting a moan as her eyes slip closed.

“And then?” he whispers into her ear.

“Your knuckles are bloody,” she sighs as he sinks deep into her.

“Keep goin, mami,” he says, then moves down to take her breast into his mouth.

She sucks her lip into her mouth as she tries to remember. It seems so far and stupid now, with the real him here and so much more, infinitely more, than she could ever imagine. And he’s right – screw him, he’s right – his hands are so much bigger, fingers longer and thicker.

“C’mon,” he prods, her nipple between his teeth.

“Oh god, um.” She squeezes her eyes tighter, trying to focus on anything but what he’s doing to her, which now includes starting a slow rhythm over her clit. “You tell me I’m gonna come for you and then you pull down my panties so hard they break–” He’s sucking now and she sobs out a moan, getting higher pitched as her clit throbs. “I – and then I… um, god – I tell you to fuck me and, oh-_oh shit_, you do.” He licks a hot line over her other breast and her hips are starting to shake. “Sometimes Dean walks in when you’re still– ahhhhhh.”

She comes, incoherent, the orgasm rushing through her veins and drowning her. Her nails dig deep into his neck and she can feel his grin against her breast. He doesn’t remove his fingers as she comes and she clenches around them, hips drawing up from the bed as she whimpers.

Finally she finishes and Rio comes up to kiss her before pulling away equally as quickly.

She chases after his lips, but he’s too smug.

“You got a dirty mouth on you, mami.”

She uses her hand in his neck to hit him firmly and she’s all triumphant about finally having landed her blow when he pulls his fingers out of her and draws them straight into his mouth. Beth loses her breath and he’s smirking when he pulls them back out.

Rio leans closer and she thinks it’s to kiss her, but he speaks instead.

“Your cheatin-ass hubby walkin in while I’m fuckin you so damn good, mmmm – that’s another one for the bucket list, sweetheart.”

He howls with laughter when she huffs and pushes him off, cheeks burning.

Great, just another thing he's never going to let her forget.

She wants to look for her underwear but her limbs are too heavy, as is her head. She’s boneless – just the thought of moving makes her feel queasy. So she decides not to, only shifting a little so she's on her side. Rio’s still grinning when he settles down next to her. They’re facing each other and after a few seconds his smile slips away. His hand goes to her lower back and it’s weirdly shielding, she thinks. If a guard does decide to enter for some reason, his one hand isn’t exactly going to preserve much of her modesty. Then he pulls her toward him a little, and she realises: it’s possession.

Their eyes meet and it’s like he dares her to say something.

It’s not what he expects.

“Rio.” She draws a breath. “What’s your favourite colour?”

Her six hours have dwindled and there’s still so much she wants to know about him.

“Blue,” he says easily, looking right into her eyes.

“Ok,” she nods, too pleased that he’s actually directly answered for once to come up with anything else.

“You gon’ knit me a scarf?”

“Yeah, one to match your prison uniform.”

He glares and she falls asleep halfway through her giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you thought and what you think is still coming 👀


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you again - I can't believe this turned into four parts (and 12 000 words!!), considering I originally conceived of it as two max. Thank you for your support - each and every comment has meant the world to me and made me get way too into my feelings about something that was supposed to be pretty low-key (what I'm saying is, blame yourselves for the angst :P). So thank you so so much and I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> P.S. If you wanted to listen to Flora Cash's I Wasted You while reading this... you would not be disappointed. Also I may or may not be writing a drabble based on it *whistles innocently*

Beth wakes to the sound of banging.

She doesn't know what the guard is using to hit the door, but it sounds like a sledgehammer.

“ONE HOUR!” comes the yell.

Her eyes close for a second, gain moisture, then open again to find Rio also beginning to wake. He looks displeased – at the way they'd been woken, no doubt – but then he takes her in and his lips turn into a smile. Innocent, at first, then salacious as he tugs his bottom lip into his mouth.

Before she can say anything, he kisses her.

It takes her breath away.

It’s harsh in force but his lips are tender, tongue entreating at the seam of her lips. She opens and he presses closer to her, wrapping his hand around her jaw, and it feels like he’s warming her from the inside out. She didn’t even know she’d been cold. But by the time he pulls away, she isn’t anymore, feeling the heat of his kiss like a blanket they don’t have.

He stares at her for a second longer before climbing off the bed and heading to the bathroom.

Beth stares for a few moments, first to admire his body, then to try and figure out what the hell that had been. But no answers come so she re-dresses, pulling her wedges on just as Rio emerges clad once again in his overalls and tank top.

“You ready?” he asks, all business.

Beth swallows then nods.

He nods a little too then, standing just a little way away from the bed, he tells her.

Beth commits each word to memory, having learnt her lesson with Gretchen. And, sure enough, when he’s done, he jerks his head.

“Say it back.”

She takes a breath then begins to recite: “I go to your apartment. In your closet there’s a brick loose where your shoes were. Behind it is a burner phone. I dial 2, give them my name, then tell them the border problem needs taking care of.”

He rolls his shoulders. “And that’s it.”

Beth draws her eyes away. She feels like she can’t breathe.

One hour.

For the first time since that door has shut, she feels trapped; claustrophobic.

_You need me and I need out, so you do whatever the fuck it takes; this non-negotiable._

Non-negotiable, it’s non-negotiable.

“Gettin cold feet?” his voice comes, rough.

She looks back up, blinking. When had he come to know her so well?

_You don’t know me._

_I think I do._

It hits harder each time he proves it.

She gulps in oxygen.

“I just..." She struggles. "I just _can’t kill someone_, Rio. I held that gun to Boomer’s head and… I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“Ain’t the same thing,” he says, tone annoyed.

“Yes, it is. I’m killing someone!”

“You makin a call.”

“That’s going to get someone killed!”

He stares back at her, jaw ticking.

She sits, back straight, waiting. He’s as unreadable as ever, the relaxed lines of his body paired with livid eyes.

After a long few seconds, he nods slowly.

“Then don’t do it.”

It evokes more dread and horror, solid in the bottom of her stomach, than anything else he could’ve said.

“W-what do you mean?”

He steps closer with a shrug. “You sayin you can’t, so don’t.”

She shakes her head, confused despite the fact that he’s making it seem like what he’s saying is simple.

“Is this reverse psychology or something?”

“It ain’t nothin,” he growls, “I’m just over forcin you to do shit.”

Now there’s anger everywhere – in the set of his jaw and his shoulders, the glisten in his eyes and the cruel curl of his mouth.

It makes her lose her breath for a second.

Then she forces herself to speak.

“But… what about you?”

_You need me and I need out_

He pulls a face, shaking his head. “That ain’t your business no more.”

Beth frowns. “What do you mean?”

He waves a hand. “You want out, sweetheart, you out.”

“I don’t–”

“Don’t go fuckin doin nothing stupid again neither,” he scoffs. “I ain’t gonna hurt you or your people, and you keep the paper – but that’s it, we done.”

It’s all she can do to blink back at him.

Each time she’d tried to quit, he hadn’t let her.

_It’ll take a lifetime to wash all that money._

_Yeah, that’s kinda the point. _

And now here he is, breaking up with her.

It feels like something shatters inside her and she wonders if that’s what he’d felt hearing her say that she wouldn’t get him out of here. Wouldn’t make a phone call.

She was supposed to be his partner. She’d told him he doesn’t belong here. And now she can’t do the one thing he needs her to.

Beth watches him go over to her pile of things. He retrieves a Twix she’d wrapped in plastic wrap then goes to stand by the window.

For a few moments there’s just the sound of him unwrapping then eating the chocolate bar as Beth tries not to cry.

He’s done by the time she looks back up.

“I don’t want to be done.”

His eyes jump to meet hers.

Then he scoffs. “You don’t know what you want, Elizabeth.”

Doesn’t she? Does he?

_You don’t know me._

“I think I do.”

He stares back at her, considering, then shakes his head, like her response is inconsequential.

“I ain’t gonna be the big bad wolf in your story no more, darlin. I got better things to do.”

It’s been their default for so long that she’d never even realised that’s how she’d cast him. It’s not even completely unfair – he’s forced her into so many things she didn’t want to do. Not everything, but enough.

Only, now he’s done. He’s giving her a free-and-clear exit. A get-out-of-jail-free card, Monopoly money included.

She’s out, if she wants to be. No strings attached. He just won’t play her role anymore; will no longer be her villain.

“You don’t have to be,” she says quietly. Beth takes a breath and it's short; anxious. “But I don’t want it to be my story if you’re not in it.”

He stares at her, truly speechless for maybe the first time ever.

She doesn’t know what to say either; feels empty, like there is no more she’s able to confess.

Then he just looks out the window with a shake of his head, sniffing lightly and shaking his head. Like she’d said something amusing; like she’d said nothing. She sits frozen, unsure.

After a minute she forces her limbs apart; stands.

She goes into the bathroom and pees.

She sits there for a long while, just contemplating everything that’s gotten her here.

She thinks about the first time she’d seen him, sitting on her kitchen countertop like he belonged. And every moment since; each time he’d drawn her in, each time he’d pushed her away. Each time she’d done the same, like they were taking turns. And now here they are, messed up beyond belief. How is she surprised?

She washes her hands with his soap then takes a few gulps of water. Patting cold fingers onto her cheeks, she looks in the mirror. There’s a helplessness behind her eyes._ You did this_, she reminds herself. _You both did this. _

She thinks about the way he’d kissed her when she’d woken up. She thinks about when he’d admitted to staying because of what happened in that bathroom that night. The bathroom itself. God. The way he’d looked at her. And in her bedroom, too. The way he’d smiled as he’d noticed her mismatched socks.

It’s musical chairs. Their game is musical chairs and god, when the music is playing, it’s the best feeling in the world. It’s him enveloping her hand in his or returning her child’s blanket. It’s his praise, warm as his lips: _You best not put that stuff in your face – you don’t need it _or _You did it – you a boss now._ It’s the all-consuming way he turns her on with nearly no effort – _Just picture everybody naked _and _Tell em we were making love. _It’s pockets of compassion, always surfacing when she forgets he’s capable of any: _I’m gonna teach you_;_ I know it’s lonely at the top. _Sometimes she even forgets the music will stop. But it does, it always does, and then her stomach plummets into her shoes and the panic is blinder than the feelings that keep her playing.

Beth runs her hand over the cashmere sweater he’s left on a small shelf, folded neatly atop the jeans.

_You came to me way back when, right? Asking to be a part of it. Now you a part of it._

His words come back to her at the touch and she jerks her hand away as if the cashmere is responsible for the piercing ache that spreads across her chest.

There are no more chairs. And the music isn’t coming back on, either – the lights are out, party’s over, time to go home.

Beth gathers his things then exits the bathroom and puts it with the rest of her pile. She takes one last moment to collect herself then spins and slowly, hesitantly, approaches him at the window.

He doesn’t look at her. She clears her throat.

“If you want to be done, I understand that.” Perhaps she is not the only one for whom the music stops. Perhaps they take turns on that, too. “I won’t contact you again. But I’m making that call.”

When he looks at her, it’s nearly involuntary, his eyes perplexed.

“I don’t get you, ma,” he says eventually, voice smooth and even.

If she were to draw a list of all the things she’ll miss about him, it would span yards, and his voice would be somewhere near the top. Near the feeling of his eyes on her and the fearsome bird inked into his throat.

She smiles a little, hoping it looks less sad than it feels.

“I don’t get you, either.”

He turns his body so he’s fully facing her, interested.

“That our problem?”

“I think we probably have more than one.” It comes out half-joking, half-sombre.

“Hmm.”

He peers at her, as if this is a question and she will produce an answer.

It’s almost amusing – Beth has less answers now than she’s ever had.

He stares at her for a long while, hands behind his back, and Beth manages to keep his eyes, keenly aware that this may be the last time she ever sees him.

Eventually he looks away, out the window, just for a moment. Then his gaze returns to hers.

“I ain’t never said I wanted to be done.”

Beth loses her breath. Her heart patters along to the beginning strings of the music.

“…You weren’t exactly giving me evidence to the contrary.”

He lets out a rush of breath and it’s frustrated; exhausted. “You got me fucked up, Elizabeth.”

Beth isn’t a hundred percent sure what this means, but she shakes her head anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

She pouts just a little, mostly out of confusion, and Rio’s jaw hardens.

“Fuck,” he mutters, then kisses her.

She whimpers first in surprise then at the force of his kiss as he drives her back, her body slamming into the wall as he rams against her. He sucks her tongue into his mouth and Beth moans, hands going to his neck. His one hand is on her hip, pulling her impossibly closer, while the other tugs down her neckline then reaches into her bra.

The kiss is burning hot, filthy, and Beth’s a second away from demanding he fuck her against the wall when there’s a bang on the door.

“TEN MINUTES!”

“No,” she sobs as soon as Rio pulls away from her lips.

It makes him stay near and his hand on her hip slips down then under her dress, drawing a sharp gasp from her as he fingers the line of her panties.

“Don’t stress, mami,” he smirks. “Imma take care o’ you when I’m outta here.”

She clenches at just the thought. She wants him to take her against the front door; bend her over a kitchen counter.

“A week’s a long time,” she complains, breathy.

At the time period – a reference to his answer earlier – his eyes turn hard, and he removes his hands from her.

He stares at her, jaw ticking, for a long moment before speaking.

“Why?”

Beth frowns. “_Why_?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Why, what?”

“You had an out, you coulda been free, and you didn’t you take it. Why? Why you keep makin shit harder for yourself?”

His voice is hard and it’s touching, she supposes, that some part of him is more concerned about her personally than them, personally or professionally.

But to think that she has much of a choice in the matter is a fundamental fallacy. It’s just another one of the problems of them.

_You need me and I need out_

Her hands still on his neck, Beth draws him closer and he lets her, his gaze questioning. Lets her press their foreheads together so she doesn’t have to say it too loud.

The world cannot hear her answer – it is too honest, and the world runs on lies.

“You said it. I need you.”

Not just for money; not just to teach her about this life she’s chosen for herself. Not just for any one thing, but for the entire kaleidoscope of fucked up they are. For the kaleidoscope he frees within her.

Rio relaxes beneath her hands and gaze, eyes and jaw softening. God. If only she’d known sooner that there are words magical enough to make that happen.

And before she can stop herself, more words tumble from her tongue.

“Do you need me?”

Rio’s brow quirks and then he shakes his head easily, like the question is absurd.

Beth feels like a moron; wants to curl up as small as she can and disappear. It’s more mortifying than anything else she’s had to endure today, and for the life of her, she can’t figure out why she’d ever allow the question to slip past her lips. Of course he doesn’t need her. In business he’d been doing fine without her for years; will continue to flourish long after they’ve left one another behind.

And, god, he’d said it once already, hadn’t he?

_You think I need you? You ain’t nothin but a damn charity case to me._

But he's not done. He presses in close; closer.

“I don't need you, mami, I want you.” He takes a broken breath, fixing her with a breathtaking stare. “And that's way worse.”

Beth’s lips part with a gasp and his eyes search hers. She doesn’t know what he finds, but then he tips closer and her lips meet his halfway, the kiss lighter and more tender than it has any right to be. His thumb pulls softly under the line of her jaw and she finds herself caressing over his stubble.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only by an inch. She can still feel the heat of his lips; his scent is intoxicating.

“You sure?” he whispers.

She lets her one hand trail from his face onto his shoulder, feeling over his upper arm then down his taut side. He wants her and she needs him, and the music is so loud in her ears and, god, her chair is right beneath her hands.

“Yes,” she nods.

The smile is in his eyes not on his lips, but it’s still there, buried beneath the enigma of him.

He pulls back a little more then cocks his head.

“Say it back.”

Beth nibbles at her lip for a second, trying to break through the cloud of delirious happiness to get at the memory, before beginning to recite.

“Loose brick behind the shoes. Burner phone with speed dial 2. My name. Border problem. That’s it.”

Now Rio does grin, tipping her chin up with his finger.

“Real glad I married you.”

She laughs, she can’t help it.

“Apparently I charge by the hour, so I hope you’re ready for the bill.”

“Hmm,” he laughs, “I’ll take care of it right after I take care of you.”

They’re both smiling when they kiss, even as she feels these last moments weigh too heavy on her shoulders.

She keeps him against her, forehead to hers, when their lips part. Then she draws a long breath and it breaks in a few places.

“_When you're out, we won't forget this_.” Determined, she meets his eyes. “Say it back.”

The one side of Rio’s mouth quirks as he hesitates for only a second.

“When I'm out, we won't forget this.”

She’s blinking, trying to accept that this is not delirium but reality, when there are three loud warning bangs against the door – they’re coming in. Rio gives her one last look, held just between the two of them, before putting an ocean of space between them.

She goes to collect her things and she's just balanced it all into her arms when the door jolts open.

“Prisoner, against the wall!” one of the guards yell.

She's glad she has her back to him; she couldn't bear seeing him like that. He doesn't belong here; he doesn't take orders.

But then she can't help it, she turns to look over her shoulder, and the truth is, it doesn't look demeaning. Rio wears the stance just like he does everything else: like he owns it. His palms pressed into the concrete, his shoulders relaxed – it's casual, casual, belying both the setting and the look in his eyes. It holds so much promise, it takes her breath away.

_When I'm out, we won't forget this._

_I want you._

Then he smiles, just a little bit, and the last thing Beth thinks before the guard pulls her out is that, god – he's worth killing for.


End file.
